


Indomitability

by antagonists



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 22:43:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15399153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antagonists/pseuds/antagonists
Summary: There is a moment of hesitation as if Shaxx would like to say something more personal, but then he is prying the doors apart bare-handed. If it were any other time—Focus, Ghost chides.—I’d tap that, Mu-ue finishes a little wistfully, and Ghost sighs.





	Indomitability

**Author's Note:**

> had abt. 7k of unfinished hunter/shaxx dating from a month after d2 came out, which says a lot abt my shaxx thirst
> 
> here's a take on a guardian that never asked for any of that and kinda regrets it  
> general d2 storyline+post story

* * *

 

 

 

A Nothingness treads through the emptied hallways, adjusting its footing around collapsed rubble and fire. The transmission had done little to explain the details of this assault, but the danger of it is apparent enough. No attack has been able to breach the walls of the City since…

 

Twilight Gap? Before that? Probably before this Nothingness was Risen, or even before the walls had been more than an idea.

 

 _You can stop hiding, now_ , Ghost says. Flicker of cobalt; it is almost blinding even amidst the fire.

 

Nothingness dissipates. Mu-ue rubs the back of his neck, as though embarrassed, a play’s shadow revealed before its costume change.

 

“Just being sure,” he says. Ghost rolls his eye, and hovers dutifully over his Guardian’s shoulder as they round another corner. There is more flame and rubble, a few bodies and broken frames. Mu-ue expects another wave of enemies, another stack of dead bodies, perhaps.

 

“Hunter!”

 

He does not want to admit that he jumps at the echo of Shaxx’s voice.

 

It does not take Mu-ue very long to zero in on the source of sound, even through all the smoke and debris. At the end of the hall, illuminated faintly by a flaming sword, Shaxx champions the survivors. He finds himself jogging closer; he has been away on missions for months, and even when he returns to the City and a situation less than welcoming, he finds himself warm with familiarity.

 

 _Focus_.

 

“Lord Shaxx,” he greets, deciding against pulling his helmet off. It would be prudent to keep it on for upcoming battles, and he is not quite sure if he wants Shaxx to see the sheer relief on his face, in any case. Not quite sure if he could breathe in all this heavy smoke, see the civilians’ tears, and stay light on his feet.

 

It is clear that Shaxx has done his fair share of damage, that he itches to charge into battle but has stayed behind to protect the people. _Truly a noble-hearted Titan, or something_ , Mu-ue thinks, though Shaxx would deny it. The Titan rolls his shoulders, and Mu-ue is already moving closer from the wordless cue. There is a moment of hesitation as if Shaxx would like to say something more personal, but then he is prying the doors apart bare-handed. If it were any other time—

 

 _Focus,_ Ghost chides.

 

— _I’d tap that_ , Mu-ue finishes a little wistfully, and Ghost sighs.

 

“Take what you need, Hunter,” Shaxx says under his breath, as though self-conscious with how his loud voice would echo in the armory. “If the Cabal want war, give them war.”

 

And when the doors slam shut, separating them once again, Mu-ue is stunned at the sheer silence around him. A pocket of stillness in the chaos and din. He looks back at the doors, wondering if Shaxx too is turned in the same direction, before shaking his head and stocking up on rifle ammo. Familiar weight. He thinks of it as another gift from Shaxx, then moves on.

 

He loses this gift high up in the sky, feeling the metal and gunpowder slip through his fingers when the Light leaves him in a soft exhale. His breath shatters under the weight of a world and conquest. Mu-ue, barely able to see, drags Ghost closer, his fingers trembling. Underneath the pain and lead weight of his body, anger burns beneath his skin. _How dare they_.

 

As he falls—

 

 _Focus_.

 

—an unforgivable storm of red.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Journey, as Ghost likes to call it, is taxing in ways that Mu-ue has long since left for the dreaming world. He has been through wars before the Golden Age, this he knows, though the specifics still elude him and wake him through the nights. He is sure the aching, yawning emptiness he feels—different from the Void—is universal among Guardians. Mu-ue is constantly reminded of the Fallen; he has never enjoyed slaughtering a race merely trying to _live_ , wonders if the Fallen laugh at them now.

 

He is quiet on the flight to the EDZ, ignoring the fidgety glances from the rest of the survivors. Mu-ue is aware he looks worse for wear, armor tattered and burnt, his cloak a ghost from days past.

 

Well, he is not unused to falling, but his bones still ache. It feels like the wind knocked out of him those weeks ago still hasn’t managed to find its way back into his lungs. He slouches a certain way, and when the discomfort in one joint or three becomes too much, he slouches another way. The survivors shift nervously around him. Unsure; is he a god, or is he a burden?

 

On the topic of survivors—

 

 _Focus,_ Ghost says.

 

—Mu-ue hears Shaxx before he sees Shaxx, as it were.

 

“Hunter! You live!”

 

He relives about ten seconds of the last gunfire and following silence before their meeting at the armory. Shakes it off.

 

It takes him a moment to realize that Shaxx is striding up to him, and he almost trips backwards before the Titan captures him in a rib-crushing hug. No, really, he might break something that had been on the mend and—ah. Well, it seems the City’s fall has not diminished Shaxx’s strength any.

 

“Lord Shaxx,” Mu-ue manages over Shaxx’s relieved laughter, patting the Titan on the back. Perhaps it is less of patting, and more of a desperate smacking. Shaxx probably cannot tell the difference. “Please put me down.”

 

Shaxx does, setting Mu-ue down with a little more care than he had in picking the Hunter up. He is hard to read as usual, with that helmet never leaving his damn head, but Mu-ue thinks that there is something a little more than simple relief in the grip on his shoulders. He lets his body sway with the force of Shaxx’s movements, too weary to put up even the simplest of fights.

 

If Shaxx were to let go at an undue time, well, into the chicken shit he would go.

 

“Of _course_ you survived!” Shaxx says, still while shaking him, ever so in his loud voice. Despite everything, Mu-ue is grateful for it. He knows Shaxx likes to confirm the realness of things through touch, and he will suffer through a bit of bruising here or there to give Shaxx some reassurance. “I can’t _wait_ to see how these rookies’ll fare against a _real_ Guardian.”

 

Mu-ue blinks, taking the smallest step back. He had not realized just how close they had been standing, and his neck is starting to hurt from constantly looking up. “How is the Crucible managing without live fire?”

 

“The hawk lady suggested paint pellets,” Shaxx sniffs, as if disappointed. “Not the best way to truly emulate battles, but it is as close as we can get now.” Now, with the Light gone and—

 

 _Focus,_ Ghost reminds him.

 

—gone.

 

“And when the time comes, these rookies will be ready.”

 

“Huh,” Mu-ue says smartly. He wishes he had more to say, but his mind is still buzzing with visions, and he has never been great with close proximities outside of battle. Or, well. You know.

 

Being disoriented is not anything new, certainly, but there is something to an uncovered, fresh wound that makes it all the more sensitive. Mu-ue has never been particularly fond of the City and its big, giant, blockading walls, but, well. Seeing Shaxx reminds him of it, and oh, how he _misses_ it so. “I’ll—I’ll let you get back to it, Lord Shaxx. I’m sure the rookies are keeping you busy.”

 

“Don’t forget about the Crucible, Hunter!” Shaxx shouts in form of farewell, and Mu-ue takes to exploring camp. He still has to head to the Shard, but before all of that: a nap.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The night after Mu-ue regains his Light, Shaxx finds him on the outskirts of the farm, next to the river with Ghost held tightly in his hands.

 

“Lord Shaxx,” says the Ghost, noticing him first, and Mu-ue flinches visibly before turning to. It was a kind of half-sleep that he has grown accustomed to out in the wilds. Helps him focus on less of… whatever is going on. He lets go of Ghost, who floats into the air. “Are you on patrol duty?”

 

“Just finished,” Shaxx nods. “The hawk lady tells me you’ve hunkered away after all the congratulations and planning. She didn’t seem very pleased with you.”

 

“Ah,” Mu-ue says.

 

“Mu-ue,” Shaxx says, crossing his arms. “You’ve hardly said anything to me since your return.”

 

“Sorry,” the Hunter says, in the blasé way that all Hunters seem to, to which Shaxx sighs loudly, visibly frustrated. He sits right by Mu-ue’s side. His is a large, loud, warm presence, difficult to ignore from this close.

 

“ _Talk_ to me,” Shaxx demands angrily, in that distinct tone of his that remind Mu-ue of charging straight into battle—all glorious golden fire and no godsdamned strategy—

 

 _Focus._ Right.

 

—and he pauses when he feels a flicker of Arc in the air before he sees it. It’s a quaint little thing, the slight bolt of blue in Mu-ue’s hand. It probably reminds Shaxx of Commander Zavala, which honestly is not an association either of them would be fond of.

 

They both relive hundreds of matches: Mu-ue leaping into the air, a streak of Void curling into his hands and shooting true and fast; upon reaching the ground, a gaping black hole in his wake.

 

“I nearly forgot what Arc felt like,” Mu-ue says. “Been a Nightstalker for so long. Switch sometimes, sure, but this Arc feels different, somehow.”

 

He presses his gloved palm over Shaxx’s fingers, and the following spark has Shaxx shivering. It is not from the cold.

 

“Hunter,” he warns. “Do not try to distract me.”

 

“Is it working?” Mu-ue asks, pressing a little closer, Arc whispering a little louder. His Ghost has gone quiet, nowhere to be found.

 

“Stop beating around the bush,” Shaxx retorts. “Why are you trying to distract me? _Talk_ to me, I said!”

 

Mu-ue does not stop sending soft strokes of Arc down Shaxx’s arm, despite the protests. He raises his other hand to fumble with Shaxx’s helmet, wants less distance with them both _here_. “I’m going to Titan. Commander is there, trying to rally a resistance.”

 

Shaxx without his helmet is not so hard to read. It takes Shaxx a while to realize that Mu-ue is talking about the moon, not just some random Titan. Mu-ue can see the instant Shaxx thinks _so that’s why the hawk lady is pissed_ , and remembers her ire and disbelief. He wonders belatedly when Shaxx’s arm had come to wrap around his waist.

 

“You’re leaving tomorrow morning,” he says, and it is not a question. Shaxx knows war. They must move quickly for the counterattack, and he is the only piece on the board that has not shattered yet. Perhaps the only one that has come _back_ from being shattered. It is clear on Shaxx’s face that he is taking this as some sort of misconstrued farewell, as though he thinks that Mu-ue does not expect to survive it all.

 

He doesn’t, but, semantics. Shaxx is angry.

 

“Yes,” Mu-ue says, and at the next subtle push of Arc, Shaxx shoves the Hunter down by the shoulder, straddling his waist. Mu-ue’s eyes are dark and mischievous, his hands settling on Shaxx’s thighs, fingers tracing patterns into the singed Mark. He laughs quietly. “It’ll be hard to do stuff while your armor is still on, you know.”

 

“You planned this,” Shaxx accuses. It is easy to see he misses having his own Light. The proximity of it, the potency of it trickling into his senses has him _wanting_. Mu-ue takes a grounding breath, both imagines and remembers similar encounters—

 

 _Focus_ , he tells himself, and laughs a little for it. His body is doing that well enough on its own.

 

“What were you going to do if I didn’t show?”

 

“Knew you would,” Mu-ue says, breath hitching when Shaxx leans down to bite his ear. A frantic drumbeat inside his chest, lightning thrumming through his fingertips, like this is his first time. “Didn’t need a Plan B, did I?”

 

Shaxx slips a hand down between Mu-ue’s legs, and _squeezes_.

 

Mu-ue curses, bucking, feels the tension storming around both their bodies in a blur of blue and static. Shaxx tugs impatiently at the complexity of the Hunter’s leather belts and straps. Digs in fast when Mu-ue finds enough working brain cells to help loosen them, and finally— _finally_.

 

The whine Mu-ue lets out is barely audible, but his back arches so far off the ground that Shaxx has to push his hips down with a forearm.

 

“Easy,” he murmurs, and sinks low.

 

There is still a fine tremble in Mu-ue’s body as he pulls himself into some sort of slouch, panting from the exertion. He feels sluggish, warm, less on the brink of falling off of some edge he cannot see.

 

“So you waited here for me,” Shaxx says slowly, wiping at his mouth, “to blow off some steam before you left.”

 

Mu-ue laughs, again. “What, don’t tell me you didn’t like it, Lord Shaxx.”

 

“I hope you’re not going to use your Light like that on everyone you meet.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Mu-ue says. In the back of his mind, Ghost is there, questioning, wondering. Is he okay?

 

 _Will the morning come?_ He asks back.

 

“I’ll be scarce here, from now,” he says when the silence has lingered.

 

“Cut out for fieldwork, I know,” Shaxx says, shakes his head. The night makes his skin glow a deep blue. “You damn Hunters never know how to stay put. We’ll hold the lines here,” he pauses, then, considering. “Don’t listen to what the hawk lady has to say.”

 

“Her name is _Hawthorne_ ,” Mu-ue chides. He remembers her piercing eyes, a halo of a vision and a warrior. “What do you want me to tell the Commander?”

 

Shaxx snorts. “That he’s an _idiot_. _Titan_ , of all places. He gets inspired by the stupidest things. At least he’s never known how to die for good.”

 

“I would hope so,” Mu-ue replies wryly, eyes closing as he sinks into the grass. “Stay here?” Exposed, in the open. There are predators here, but the world might end anyways; he doesn’t care. The world might end anyways; it can spare him a romantic night or two.

 

“You’ll catch a cold sleeping out here.”

 

“You can stay close to keep me warm, if you’re so worried.”

 

“Romantic,” Shaxx grumbles some more, shoving the pieces of his armor to the side as Mu-ue unfastens his cloak. “Sleeping outside in a place that smells of chicken shit and old wood.”

 

It is difficult to sleep well, or at all. Still, he throws his tattered cloak over both their shoulders and presses closer.

 

“Remember me to take you on more hunting excursions,” Mu-ue says into the night. Breathes in expecting the warmth of another’s Light and finding none. “You’re cute when you complain.”

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

The Traveler is awake, or something.

 

In the coming days, the City is full of dust and rabble as the people mend structures and destroy what cannot be salvaged. There is a lot of light, nowadays. Mu-ue is not sure if he has grown unused to it, or if it really is just that much brighter than it used to be.

 

He thinks back to Shaxx’s commentary in his last Crucible match, the astonished _what!_ and the imitation crowd in the back of his mind roaring. The cheering quickly sours to an undistinguishable racket of gunfire and raucous nonsense. The red of the opposing team, the red of crumbling Mercury and the blazing sun at his twelve and then his six, red of The Immortal—

 

 _Focus_ , Ghost whispers.

 

—leftover red on his cloak. Drying blood from somewhere. Mu-ue scrubs fruitlessly at the stain.

 

His last Crucible match was over a week ago. Arcite had sent him some message about a rehaul of certain facilities, and also a temporary ban. Mu-ue can almost hear Shaxx lecturing in that voice of his: _the Crucible is meant to forge, to strengthen! Not to destroy! What are you doing out there getting yourself killed without rhyme or reason!_

_I don’t know_ , Mu-ue thinks miserably. _No one was complaining about it way back when._

 

Arcite had listed a few reasons for the ban, attaching some official rules for the Crucible that Mu-ue hadn’t known existed until a week ago.

 

_Unreasonable risk to teammates, unjustifiable reckless behavior to friendlies and foe, un—_

Mu-ue had closed to the message before he could see the rest of it. Cayde caught wind of this long ago and has been attempting to contact him since but, well. Hunters wouldn’t be Hunters if they did not know how to stay hidden. He gets the feeling that the Hunter Vanguard _knows_ and is just pretending like he doesn’t know.

 

Ghost is real and solid in his hands. He holds on tight, fingers folded together. Like he is praying.

 

Cayde finds him in the EDZ, by some shores between nowhere and Fallen territory, hopping up the rocks as if he is totally not encroaching on another Hunter’s brooding time.

 

“Think you forgot something,” Cayde says, gesturing backwards. Mu-ue does not need to look to know; he can feel the sheer force of lightning from here.

 

“Didn’t forget,” Mu-ue mutters, letting Ghost go and watching him fidget and glow. “Couldn’t you have _warned_ me?”

 

Cayde gives him this look, which reads _absolutely not_ , and he skips back down the slope and away.

 

He is mostly alone for another minute or two. A heavier, careful body climbs up the rocks, and does not slip even once.

  
“Guardian,” Shaxx says once he is standing beside Mu-ue. He tries his voice again after sitting, then breaks off once he feels the Hunter sag right into his side.

 

“Take off your armor,” Mu-ue mumbles, unwilling to pull his cloak down his face so he can breathe easier. “It’s cold.”

 

“Could have dressed more warmly,” Shaxx says lightly, one hand coming up to rest on Mu-ue’s shoulder. The touch is unsure. Once the chest plates and pauldrons are off, Shaxx awkwardly attempts to undo his greaves with one hand. Mu-ue helps, quietly, watches the Titan quell his flinch once he realizes that the ties have already been undone.

 

Mu-ue shoves his face into Shaxx’s shoulder at the very first opportunity. Light buzzes beneath the skin there, well and abundant and _there_. By whatever gods are out there, Shaxx has his Light back.

 

“That cold, huh,” Shaxx chuckles softly, brushing through the Hunter’s messy, most likely smelly, hair.

 

“Not everyone is a walking furnace,” Mu-ue says icily, but his voice holds no real bite. He nuzzles his cold nose against Shaxx’s pulse and takes some glee in how the Titan twitches.

 

“Want to talk?” Shaxx asks, keeping a constant stream of Light looping around them. Mu-ue relaxes, no longer shivering, but still refusing to look up.

 

“No.”

 

A sigh. “You’ve been avoiding everyone since the Traveler awoke.”

 

Mu-ue really hasn’t. He has just been, well, spending time away from people unless absolutely necessary. And maybe also even when necessary.

 

“Yeah?” he mutters against Shaxx’s neck. “Well that’s my business. Isn’t affecting my performance any.”

 

“I contest that,” Shaxx says. “You know how many rookies I’ve seen crying after their matches? Taking your anger out in the Crucible is fine—they can learn the hard way _if_ it’s by the rules. But I’m pretty _damn_ sure you haven’t been playing by them, or sleeping, for that matter. Like you Hunters never do.”

 

Mu-ue does not realize the habitual stirring of Void around him until Shaxx notices, which is too late. It isn’t like a mental ward would keep Shaxx out of his head any, like it would for more keen Warlocks or Awoken.

“Stop that,” Shaxx orders, clamping his hands down on Mu-ue’s sides more firmly and squeezing. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

 

The squeeze has a little too much power behind it, though. Mu-ue winces at the Arc that lances right through his ribs and tenses. As if in apology, Shaxx relaxes his grip and smooths a palm up the Hunter’s back. Arc buzzes at his fingertips, sends static scattering all over Mu-ue’s skin—like the accusing stare of a failing Servitor, the echo of a discharged grenade missing him by seconds, bright blades barring his way to the Shard and—

 

_Focus!_

 

And—

 

“It’s just!” he starts, gasping for breath, shoulders so tense that they hurt. Shaxx’s thumbs press soothing circles into the muscles there. “It’s just—I don’t know. Noisy? It’s just been me and the quiet for so long, and suddenly there’s just so much and—” Mu-ue shudders, stops to take a slow breath. He can feel and hear Shaxx swallowing, like he’s nervous. As though the world is ending right there within his palms. “I should be happy the Traveler’s back. Everyone is, I am. But—”

 

“But what?” Shaxx encourages when he falters. When he smooths another line of Light down the Hunter’s back, Mu-ue presses his forehead into the bit of shoulder he can reach, the Void twisting angrily and restlessly. “But _what_ , Mu-ue?”

 

Instead of giving a verbal answer, Mu-ue pulls himself up and presses his lips to Shaxx’s. The moment is lost in the sheer flood of Void that _takes_ and _takes_ and—he only comes back when his lungs burning for air hurt more than his head does. He sucks in air and kisses Shaxx again.

 

It’s a bit much, really, feels like an eternity before either of them can find the freedom to breathe properly. The air crackles with an oncoming storm, Arc lighting up the minute space between them.

 

“Mu-ue,” Shaxx gasps, reaching to pull the Hunter down and against him. Mu-ue is shaking. “Hey, hey. You’re okay.”

  
“It’s cold,” Mu-ue forces through his chattering teeth. When his eyes are open the storm demands him, when his eyes are closed the Void sees him. He presses his face into something warm and tries to still himself.

 

Gradually the shaking lessens. The hungry Void withdraws. The tension in Mu-ue’s shoulders bleeds out so suddenly that he feels himself slumping forwards before he can help it, a dead weight in Shaxx’s arms.

 

“Sorry,” he says, wondering if his voice has always sounded so far away. His body feels like a bag of coals, heavy and extinguished. Maybe Shaxx can feel the temporary absence of Light; maybe he thinks _is this what we all felt like before?_ to himself and grows uneasy.

 

“Let’s go back,” Shaxx offers. Mu-ue kind of wants to argue, mostly against sleeping inside the City when there is so much going on, but Shaxx won’t have it. “We can camp later. You need to sleep and I’m going to make sure of it.”

 

“Gonna throw me onto your bed?” Mu-ue asks when Shaxx has stood up, hands wrapped firmly around his thighs.

 

“Another time,” Shaxx says, and they share a small snicker. He summons his Ghost to transmat the bits of his removed armor back to his temporary quarters first. After a moment of blue, they are in his unlit room, facing the window looking out over the rebuilding City.

 

“Curtains,” Mu-ue says sleepily, hoping that his one-armed gesture at the window gets the message across.

 

“Take off your armor first,” Shaxx says as he sets the Hunter down and makes for the window.

 

He turns around and sighs when he sees Mu-ue already pulling the sheets over his fully-dressed form. The only light in the room is the faint violet glow of the lamp in the corner, shaped vaguely like an arrow. An old gift. Mu-ue is a bit humbled that Shaxx thought it worthy enough to salvage it from the Tower.

 

“You can have the honors of undressing me,” Mu-ue replies as Shaxx strips to his underwear. He half means it as a joke, completely willing to sleep in his armor in a perfectly good bed since he’s too lazy to undress, but well.

 

Shaxx works methodically through Mu-ue’s armor, taking time to learn the straps and buckles and ties all over again. They are not the same as the outfit he had before the fall of the City, but the way they bend around Mu-ue’s body mark the same movements, the same muscle patterns and motions that they always have.

 

Once the Titan comes to bare skin, he pauses.

 

New scars line Mu-ue’s body, from shoulder to wrist, from heart to abdomen. There are places where bone had broken through skin, where vessels had ruptured into red, red webs. All that is left behind are the angry scars, long since healed over, but permanent. These are nothing like the wounds they receive while blessed with the Light. Many of them are this way, now.

 

Wordless, Shaxx bends down and presses a kiss to Mu-ue’s chest, one thumb stroking idly at the jut of the Hunter’s hips. He presses a kiss to Mu-ue’s throat, next. Still the Hunter stares at him. A flame of Void Light flickers onto his hand, and he grips onto it tightly, refusing to let go. There is hunger in Mu-ue’s eyes, and Shaxx stares back as he lets the Arc ebb loose, washing over the Hunter’s body like frothing stormwater.

 

Mu-ue shudders, quiet and exhausted.

 

“Let’s go to sleep,” Shaxx says, laying down, and Mu-ue agrees.

 

 

* * *

 


End file.
